At length she noticed Mr. Newton, who came forward, and the sight of him seemed to explain matters.
He presented a restorative to her, and Georgette slightly raised her head while she swallowed a portion of it.
The effects of the draught were speedily manifest, and she remarked in a low voice, “I have had a fall from my horse, have I not? I recollect something about it.”
“You have,” replied Mr. Newton; “and have been a good deal shaken. Keep as quiet as you can.”
“We will take every care of you,” said Sister Aline.
“Have you felt any pain in the chest?” asked Mr. Newton.
“Yes, I feel some difficulty in breathing,” she replied.
“Then don’t exert yourself in the least,” he rejoined.
“Am I in any danger?” she asked, looking inquiringly at him. “Don’t conceal the truth from me.”
“I hope not,” replied Mr. Newton. “But it is quite impossible to say at present, you have had a very serious fall.”
“I thought so,” she replied. “But I must again ask you — Is my life in danger?”
“I cannot tell,” he replied. “I am not yet certain of the extent of the injuries you have received.”
“I will conceal nothing from you, dearest Mildred,” said Sister Aline, regarding her with the most affectionate concern. “You are in the greatest danger, and it will be well for you to prepare.”
“I trust I am fully prepared, dearest Sister,” replied Mildred; “and I am quite resigned to the will of Heaven.”
Here Georgette turned aside her head, and burst into tears.
“I have one request to make of you, dearest Sister, and I am sure you will grant it,” said Mildred. “Do not leave me till the last.”
“I will not,” replied the other, earnestly.
“I have always had a foreboding of late, as you are well aware,” pursued Mildred, “that I should die from a fall from my horse, and my apprehensions will now be realised.”
“Alas!” ejaculated Sister Aline.
Again Georgette’s sobs were audible.
“Restrain yourself,” said Mr. Newton to her.
Just then the door opened, and the Squire and Stanley came in, and drew near the bed. Mildred seemed pleased to see them.
Mr. Warburton attempted to address his daughter, but his accents were broken, and his eyes blinded by tears. Stanley’s feelings were under better control, but he was much moved.
“You are very kind to come to see me,” said Mildred.
“How do you feel, my darling child?” asked her father.
“I don’t suffer much pain, dearest Papa,” she rejoined. “But I feel all is over with me.”
“Oh! you alarm yourself unnecessarily,” he said, and he added in a low voice, “I have telegraphed to Dr. Percival to come to see you at once, and feel sure he will obey the summons. He will be here this afternoon.”
“The information does me good,” she replied.
Stanley had not yet spoken, but his looks expressed the greatest solicitude. He now took the Squire’s place, and said to his wife very earnestly, “Don’t be alarmed, dearest Mildred. You’re not so much hurt as you suppose. Of that I’m certain.”
“You mean to cheer me, Stanley, but I can’t be deceived,” she replied. “I’ve got my death-blow. I shan’t live many hours.”
“I hope you may live many years,” he rejoined.
“No, no, — all is over with me,” she replied. “But I do not grieve.” She then drew him nearer to her, and whispered, “You will soon be free to act as you think proper, and can wed whom you please. But do not hesitate in your choice. Take Rose.”
“Is that your real wish?” he asked in the same low tone.
“It is,” she rejoined. “I have ever felt I was in your way. But you will now be effectually relieved of me.”
“Do not speak thus, I implore you!” he rejoined. “You cut me to the heart Far better you should live. I will make you as happy as I can.”
“Death alone can make me happy, for life has lost its charms. Act as I have told you.”
Stanley made no answer.
This conversation was not overheard, since those who were present at the time had withdrawn to another part of the room.
At this moment, Lady Talmash and Rose entered, and Stanley stepped on one side to allow them to approach the sufferer, both of whom were greatly touched by her looks of resignation, and could not repress their tears.
“I have left a message for you with Stanley,” said Mildred, taking Rose’s hand. “Come nearer and I will tell you what it is.”
As no reply was made she repeated the order.
“The injunction shall be obeyed,” said Rose.
Shortly afterwards, Lady Starkey and Mrs. Brereton — the latter of whom had been hastily summoned — entered the room, and were much affected by the sight of Mildred.
They wished to have remained with her, but Sister Aline besought them not to do so, and the request being seconded by Mr. Newton, they complied, and proceeded to an adjoining room, where they could be immediately summoned, if necessary.
Having administered a few drops of some stimulant, Mr. Newton likewise retired.
At her own express wish, no one was now left with Mildred, except Sister Aline and Georgette. But any of the others could be instantly summoned, if required.
CHAPTER XLIV.
DEATH OF MILDRED.
No sooner was the room cleared than Sister Aline knelt down beside the couch, and prayed fervently for a few minutes, after which she arose, and taking Mildred’s hand, asked if she had any confession to make to her.
“None whatever,” was the reply. “All my sins have been already disclosed and sincerely repented of, and I trust I shall obtain pardon. I have prayed for an easy ending, but I do not expect it The anguish I now endure must increase rather than diminish. I therefore trust my parting may be brief.”
“What is bodily suffering, dearest sister, compared with that of the soul? Rejoice that your breast is no longer torn by remorse. May you be absolved from all your sins, and placed by our Redeemer on His right hand in the midst of His elect!”
“Amen!” ejaculated Mildred. “At this supreme hour I feel how much I owe you, dearest Sister. Without you I had been inevitably lost.”
“If you have yet more to suffer — as it may be — dearest sister,” said the other, “bear it with patience and resignation. Trust in divine mercy, and at the hour of your departure you will be received into mansions of eternal bliss!”
“Amen!” again ejaculated Mildred. “I cannot kneel,” she added, in feeble accents, “or I would beg you to lift me from my couch that I might pray. I do not think I shall last long.”
Georgette, who had been kneeling in a different part of the room, but was now looking on most anxiously, said “Shall any one be summoned?”
“Only my father,” replied Mildred.
Georgette quitted the room noiselessly, and almost immediately returned with Mr. Warburton.
“I fear your beloved daughter is dying, sir,” she said to him, in a low tone, as they came in.
Stepping quickly to the couch, Mr. Warburton took Mildred’s hand, and gazed at her pallid countenance.
“I am glad you are come, dearest father,” she said. “Give me your blessing!”
“Willingly, my dear child!” he replied, in a voice half suffocated by emotion. “May Heaven bless you!”
“And you forgive me all the pain I have caused you?” she asked, regarding him most anxiously.
“I have long since forgiven you. I only fear I have not been able to make you as happy as I could have wished.”
“You have been a great deal too good to me, dearest father,” she rejoined, “and I cannot thank you sufficiently. I have not deserved your kindness, but that ought to increase my gratitude, and it does so. Farewell, for ever!”
“Farewell! dearest child!” he exclaimed. “Shall I call in the others?”
/> “Not till all is over,” she rejoined. “You will not have long to wait.”
At these words, Sister Aline, who had been kneeling beside the couch, arose, and, approaching the dying penitent, said, “Farewell! dear sister. May you be received in the place of salvation! May the gates of everlasting life be opened to you. And may you be admitted into the glory of the heavenly kingdom, through the grace and merits of our Saviour!”
For a few minutes, Mr. Warburton’s eyes were blinded. When he regarded his daughter again, an inexpressibly sweet smile still played upon her countenance, but the smile was fast fading away. She was gone!
Sister Aline and Georgette were both on their knees beside the couch.
“Oh, my dear, dear child!” groaned the old gentleman. “Art thou, indeed, taken from me? For many years thou hast been the chief joy of my life. Now I have lost thee for ever!”
And he struck his breast in despair.
“Console yourself, sir,” said Sister Aline, in tones well calculated to soothe him. “She is saved.”
“You believe so?” he asked.
“I am perfectly assured of it,” was the reply.
“Bring no one in for the present,” said the old gentleman, kneeling down beside his lifeless daughter.
After praying fervently for some minutes, he rose, kissed her hand, and proceeded slowly to the door.
Before going forth, he turned to look again at her, who had been dearest to him on earth, and then with a groan departed.
Immediately afterwards the others were admitted, and a most harrowing scene ensued, for all were most powerfully and painfully affected.
The person who seemed to suffer most was Stanley himself. He walked up quickly to the couch on which the body of his wife was lying, and taking her hand pressed it to his lips, but unable to bear the emotions that crowded to his breast, he fell back almost immediately, and rushed out of the room.
All the others suffered in more or less degree, and some seemed much hurt that they had not been summoned earlier, but it was explained to them that the dying lady’s injunctions were strictly acted upon. She had only desired to have her father and Sister Aline with her at the last.
But all were struck by the extraordinary beauty of the spectacle presented to them.
A smile still played on those death-pale features — a smile such as is rarely beheld — and all agreed that she looked lovelier than in life.
CHAPTER XLV.
DOCTOR PERCIVAL ARRIVES AT BEAUCLIFFE.
DOCTOR PERCIVAL obeyed Mr. Warburton’s summons, and arrived at Beaucliffe late in the afternoon.
Mr. Newton, who was still at the house, saw him in the first instance, and described the accident that had occurred to Mildred, explaining that her recovery was impossible. The doctor next saw poor Mr. Warburton, whom he found in the deepest distress, and after doing his best to console him, went with him to the chamber of death. Both Sister Aline and Georgette were in the room at the time, but they immediately retired.
The same impression was produced upon Dr. Percival as on all others. He had never beheld aught so beautiful, and stood gazing like one entranced.
A few flowers were placed upon the pillow on which the lovely head rested, and the arms were crossed upon the breast, as in a recumbent statue; but the features were entirely unchanged, and retained their angelic expression, the hue of the skin being white as marble.
The agonised father gazed at her for a moment, but unable to bear the sight, turned away and wept While contemplating the placid features of the departed, Dr. Percival could not help reflecting on her sad fate.
Brilliant as had been her opening career, it was extremely brief, and her married life was destroyed — then came an illness that brought her almost to death’s door — and when he himself had restored her to health and beauty, how soon afterwards was she taken away! These reflections filled him with pity.
“She had everything that can constitute worldly happiness,” he thought; “a most indulgent father, who lived only for her; a large fortune; a husband, to whom she was supposed to be attached, and who must have been devoted to her; extraordinary beauty and fascination; wondrous skill in horsemanship; and a hundred other accomplishments. Yet all went for nothing. Love of admiration spoiled all. Fortunately, she saw through her errors, and became a sincere penitent. Alas! how much happier might have been her life had it been properly regulated!”
“What are you thinking of, Doctor?” asked Mr. Warburton, who had seated himself near the couch.
“Of your daughter’s transcendant beauty, sir,” replied the doctor.
“What good has her beauty done her?” groaned the old gentleman. “It has not brought her long life, or happiness — that is certain. Of late she has had a strong presentiment that she should be killed by a fall from her horse. In consequence, she left off riding. Yet this morning she yielded to persuasion, rode forth, and there she lies.”
“To whose persuasion did she yield, sir,” asked the doctor. “Not to yours, I am sure.”
“To her husband’s,” replied Mr. Warburton. “He laughed at her fears, and insisted on her going out with him.”
“He will never forgive himself now for doing so,” exclaimed Stanley, who had entered the room unperceived, and stood behind them. “But who could suppose that the acknowledged first horsewoman in Cheshire would die in this manner? I did not believe she was in the slightest danger, or I would not have let her go forth. I thought she had allowed some superstitious fears to get the better of her judgment, and that these fears ought to be overcome, and Lady Talmash and Rose Hylton were of the same opinion. That was the cause of my insisting, and I now bitterly regret it.”’
“It was fate,” cried Mr. Warburton.
“It looks like it, I confess,” said Dr. Percival.
Then observing that Mr. Warburton had sunk into a chair, seemingly overwhelmed with grief, he said to Stanley, “We must get him away, or he will be completely prostrated.”
But just as they had raised him, Sister Aline returned with her attendant, and said, “Pray let Mr. Warburton stay a few minutes longer.”
“I dare not,” replied the doctor. “He must be removed from this painful scene, or I cannot answer for the consequences. To-morrow, I hope, he may be able to come again.”
So saying, he and Stanley took each an arm, and bore the poor old gentleman to the door, where he stopped for a moment to look back at his beloved daughter before giving forth.
“Alas! alas! this is a great trial to him,” said Sister Aline. “He suffers more than any of the family.”
“No doubt of it,” replied Georgette.
Shortly afterwards Lady Starkey came in, accompanied by Lady Talmash and Rose. They brought with them a few more choice flowers, which they placed upon the bed.
“We are come to beg you to say a prayer for the departed, while we kneel beside her,” said Lady Starkey.
Sister Aline expressed her willingness to do as they requested, and they all knelt round the bed, while she read forth the following prayer:
“Grant, O Lord, that while we lament the departure of this Thy servant, we may always remember that we are most certainly to follow her. And give us grace to prepare for that last hour by a good life, that we may not be surprised by a sudden and unprovided death, but be ever watching, that when Thou shalt call we may with the bridegroom enter into eternal glory, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen!”
There was something in Sister Aline’s tender accents that gave a most soothing effect to this prayer, and not one of the listeners but was deeply moved by it.
They almost expected that some ceremonial would be performed at this time, but nothing of the sort was attempted.
When those who knelt round the couch arose, each took Sister Aline’s hand and kissed it, and Lady Starkey said to her, “It will always be a most satisfactory reflection that you have been able to accomplish the good work you had resolved to do.”
“Yes, my task is nearly done,” sa
id the Sister. “I shall see her placed in the tomb, and shall then retire for ever to the Retreat.”
CHAPTER XLVI.
THE FUNERAL.
MR. WARBURTON sent a message by Stanley to the Comte de Clairvaux and Sir Randal de Blundeville, who were still in the house entreating them not to depart, as their society would be the greatest possible comfort to him, as soon as he was able to come downstairs, and after consulting Lady Starkey, they agreed to remain.
The poor Squire was now entirely in the hands of Dr. Percival, and esteemed himself most fortunate in having such good advice.
“If you had not been with me at this terrible time, Doctor, I feel I should have sunk,” he said; “and I hope you will remain with me till after the funeral.”
“I should be very sorry to leave you just now, Mr. Warburton,” said the doctor; “and at any personal sacrifice I will stay with you for a few days. However, I hope and trust by that time I shall be able to set you right But you must not dwell on this sad event more than you can help. I know you will say your feelings are not under your own control, and that you cannot always answer for yourself. But my orders must be strictly obeyed. You must not go again to your daughter’s room.”
“Oh, dear Doctor,” supplicated the poor Squire, “do not debar me from that sad satisfaction.”
“Well, you may go to-morrow, but I confess I shall feel extremely uneasy about you.”
“I hope you will accompany me, Doctor.”
“From my recent experience I fear I shall not be of much use,” replied the doctor. “However, we shall see how you are to-morrow.”
Just then the door opened, and two clergymen were ushered into the room. These were the Rev. Mr. Hatton, Vicar of Beaucliffe, and the Rector of Thome. Both were elderly men, and pleasant companions, of whose society the Squire was ordinarily very fond. He immediately rose from his seat to greet them, but it was with a very sorrowful countenance.
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